The Man Who Loved Ordinary Objects
His watch, spent matches, coins, a wadded-up handkerchief -
he digs for these every night in the pockets of his pants
and lays the items out with the care of an archeologist: Who lived
and carried these around?Dogs bark at him as he gropes for the mail.
The landlady upstairs sweeps her steps and motes of dust
settle on his pale hair, his stooped shoulders.
- He ignores these caresses, leaves events untouched
the way he was taught to resist fledglings fallen from neststhough he saves arguments, cupping them in his palm
the way someone else might display a rare butterfly - Oh
it had hurt: his moan of despair
and how she went to him, dropping her cruelty
like a basket of clothes.